Asking for Trouble (Line of Duty #4)(13)

When he saw her eyes were still closed, something lodged in his throat. Something he didn’t like one bit. “Hey, rich girl. Wake up.”

Her big brown eyes popped open and for one brief, intense second, he didn’t have any choice but to kiss her again. Could think of nothing else but finding out if there was something more behind that dazed expression. Gently, he drew on her bottom lip, before giving the fuller top one the same treatment. When her eyelids fluttered, he melded their mouths together, surprised to hear the slow, contented noise issuing from both of their throats.

Brent was on the verge of deepening their contact when Hayden visibly shook herself and skirted past him toward the door, looking embarrassed at having let her guard down. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he watched her smooth her skirt back in place over her sexy little backside. His hands clenched at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her.

She ran a shaking hand over her slightly mussed hair. “So. W-we never discussed payment. What is this going to cost me?”

Had he just heard her correctly? “Excuse me?”

Even Hayden looked surprised at herself, but she quickly recovered. “I know your time isn’t free. We’re not friends. I don’t expect any favors from you.”

Brent wanted to be upset. A small part of him definitely resented the offer. Still, her flushed cheeks and downcast eyes told him that, while she never hesitated to insult him, this time she hadn’t truly meant it as a put-down. He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms. A wisecrack about taking sex as a form of payment hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he held back. If they ended up in bed together at some point—and right at this moment it seemed like a distinct possibility—he didn’t want any confusion over why they’d ended up there. Either way, he had no intention of accepting money from her. “I don’t know. What’s the going rate for an escort nowadays? I hear they’re all the rage with high-society girls.” Hayden narrowed her eyes, but he held up his hand when she started to respond. “Why don’t we just see how satisfied you are with my performance tonight? We’ll decide then.”

Hayden turned on a heel. “Dinner is at eight o’clock. I’ll text you the address. Please don’t be late.” She pursed her lips. “On second thought, please be obnoxiously late and don’t apologize. That ought to set the right tone.”

“Oh, I’m going to set a tone. Don’t worry.”

“Fine,” she responded with a healthy dose of suspicion. She turned to leave.

“Duchess?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got a little grease smudge on your nose.”

The door slammed on his laughter.





Chapter Five


Hayden stood outside the luxury high-rise on Park Avenue, letting the September breeze cool her fevered skin. Sometime in the last hour, this little stunt she’d hatched with Brent had started to feel like a really bad idea. She checked her watch for the third time in under a minute, hoping he’d just blow her off and watch a baseball game or something instead. What had she been thinking? Brent, sipping wine and rubbing elbows with members of Manhattan high society? She could hardly manage it some nights. Brent would be like a bull in a china shop.

He probably thought he could waltz in, make a few jokes at their expense, and laugh his way back to Queens. What he didn’t realize—what she herself had forgotten to take into account—was the fact that these people were vultures. They didn’t let just anybody infiltrate their world. She’d been brought into it as an infant and she’d still never felt fully accepted. Now, Hayden was beginning to worry that she might be setting up Brent to be the butt of their jokes, instead of the reverse.

It shouldn’t bother her. She shouldn’t care one bit if he got a dose of his own medicine. But when she thought about Brent facing the firing squad also known as her parents’ friends, she felt ill. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, intending to call him and cancel. Make a lame joke about rich people being so flighty. Tell him he’d been let off the hook, but she’d pay him anyway.

Pay him. She still couldn’t believe she’d offered to do that. After he’d sufficiently scrambled her brain on that desk, kissing her in a way that made her ache, she’d sat there like an overinflated blow-up doll, mouth in round O. O as in Oh, yes please. I’ll take an O for the road. For that moment, she’d forgotten who he was. Hell, she’d forgotten her own name. But nothing had prepared her for what came after, for the way he’d looked at her, let his mouth roam softly over hers as if he’d been…looking for something in her. She’d felt the pressing need to banish whatever she’d felt as he kissed her so reverently. So she’d blurted the first thing she could think of to redraw the battle line in the sand.

If she could go back in time and take back the offer of money, she would. Hayden didn’t make a habit of wielding her privilege unnecessarily. Especially since it had never felt like hers to begin with. Then again, he hadn’t exactly turned down the cash, had he? Hayden was pondering that confusing realization when she felt a warm hand curl around her elbow. She gasped and spun around to identify the hand’s owner, dropping the phone in the process.

And landed hard against Brent.

“Whoa. Easy.” He steadied her on her feet, then bent down to pick up her phone. “I know I’m tough to resist but save the fun stuff for later. We’re in public, woman.”